


in your heart, in your lungs

by lovelygallows



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Mild Blood, POV Second Person, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 20:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11722314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelygallows/pseuds/lovelygallows
Summary: He is a force of nature in and of himself – irresistible, undeniable – and you are faced with a fact that you have always known, deep down. That this, even this captivates you, calls out to you, draws you in like a moth to a flame.Yet you go willingly, and it will be your undoing.





	in your heart, in your lungs

Those who have ever met you all know of your devotion to basketball.

What they don’t know is that it’s because of _him_.

 

There may have been something between you, back then – something slowly budding, tentative and wonderful.

He was a good captain, a born leader, the glue that held the team together, kind and caring and considerate. But, you liked to think, the way he looked at you held a special tenderness – that those stolen glances and accidental touches _meant_ something.

He encouraged you, even with your dismal skills, helped you find out what you could do to help the team and cultivated your strengths. He told you not to openly show your emotions, to keep them hidden inside.

But when he pressed a finger lightly against your chest and looked at you with the hint of _something_ in the depths of his gaze, you felt your heart swell to the point of bursting, and knew you would not be able to contain _this_.

You intended to tell him, to let it be known to the world. And soon.

 

That was before everything came crashing down.

 

There was no mistaking it – the hue of his left eye had changed, the iris now an unfamiliar amber, all warmth long gone, sending chills down your spine.

It should have been a minute detail, but the difference was striking. It was like looking into the eyes of a stranger, but perhaps this was no stranger after all. He had always been there, lurking in the corners, waiting – now pushed to the forefront, a competitive streak turned into full-blown ruthlessness.

His was a different kind of devotion from yours – the devotion to victory, to that and that alone. You were keenly aware of the chasm that now lay between you and him.

“Who are you?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“Of course I’m Akashi Seijuurou… Tetsuya.”

You shuddered, knowing that it was the truth.

 

It all went downhill from there.

The team fell apart, as it was bound to, but you kept winning, unstoppable, and that’s what made it worse. Winning became routine, and they were bored with it, all five of them. There was no more joy in his features – always, always that cold smugness, and unforgiving eyes not so much alive as frozen.

 

The flowers started when you finally decided to give up.

Just after you sent out your resignation form to leave the team, you felt a sudden urge to cough. As you removed your hand from your mouth, there lay a solitary purple flower in your palm, tiny and seemingly insignificant – proof of the might-have-beens that were now firmly out of reach.

You thought, idly, of how purple is the combination of red and blue, a color neither warm nor cold.

(Curious, you looked up its meaning. You felt like laughing.)

 

You didn’t see him again, not even on the day of graduation.

 

Later, he informed you of the oath between the five of them, sworn in your absence – the promise to play against one another on opposing teams in high school.

“You will participate as well, will you not?” It was not a question so much as a command, his tone authoritative even over the phone.

You thought that this, perhaps, was the chance to finally fix things, but you couldn’t have refused him, anyway.

“Yes.”

If you could feel the flowers in your lungs, you were certain you would have sensed them growing a little more.

 

At first, Kagami takes your coughing fits to be another sign of your overall weakness. But he finds out soon enough.

“What the hell,” he demands during practice, staring wide-eyed at the purple petals in your pale hands when the coughing finally subsides for a while. “Are you dying?”

_Always to the point_. You smile, a mirthless and brittle thing, frayed around the edges. “Quite possibly,” you let out a sigh, but offer no explanation.

You’re certain that Kagami knows devotion, but not like this. For all the passion that burns within him, his is a controlled fire. But yours is quiet and all-consuming – slowly suffocating you, like the very poison in your lungs.

Perhaps Kagami is fortunate.

 

No one else knows. Most days, you even feel like you can control it, can pretend that it’s not eating away at you from the inside out.

But you’re aware that it’s still there, always has been, draining the life out of you, even as you continue to push yourself in your training. You don’t know how much time you have left.

 

Before the Winter Cup begins, he summons all of you – a reunion of the Generation of Miracles. (That name still rings awfully loud and hollow in your ear.) As always, he is the last to show up – nonchalant, as if the world revolves around him. (You know yours does.)

One by one, he calls you by your first names. You almost wince at the false intimacy, but you would be lying if you said that you hadn’t imagined him calling you that, only in a different voice, in some other life.

Seeing him again after so long, you are reminded of how the look in his eyes cuts sharper and deeper than the blades of any scissors he could have wielded, cold and calculating yet fierce. Of how he is a force of nature in and of himself – irresistible, undeniable – and you are faced with a fact that you have always known, deep down. That this, even this captivates you, calls out to you, draws you in like a moth to a flame.

Yet you go willingly, and it will be your undoing.

You feel the flowers crawling up your throat again, but you manage to push them back down. You’re certain that Kagami can feel you tensing up at his side, and you do not miss the way those heterochromatic eyes dart in your direction and linger for a second too long. It is the slightest of comforts that he still sees you (even when the others don’t), though not in the way you desperately wish him to.

It occurs to you that you should have been obvious to him – if not now, then surely back at Teikou. He never misses a thing, always able to read you like an open book, making you feel naked and exposed under that piercing gaze. Either he fails to comprehend your feelings or he chooses to ignore them. Perhaps he simply doesn’t care.

You can’t decide which is worse.

 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Kagami asks, gingerly touching the cut on his cheek as you make your way back to your team.

You don’t insult him by feigning ignorance. “It is unlike Kagami-kun to be so observant,” you say by way of an answer, even though you know it’s far from true.

Kagami only scowls. “Well, he’s a royal pain in the ass,” he huffs.

_Is he worth it_ , is what he wants to know.

“Still not considering the operation?” he tries instead, more gently this time, in a final attempt to change your mind, even though he knows just how stubborn you can be.

You think back on how you started playing basketball because of him. It was he who discovered your talents, as he so often likes to remind you – but more importantly, it is he who pushes you to be the best you can be. To lose him would mean to lose basketball, and for you, that is to lose everything. The answer is obvious.

“I am a shadow,” is all you say in reply. To Aomine once, to Kagami now, but in everything else, to him. The shadow to his light.

He has given life to you, in a sense, and at this rate, it is likely that you’ll give your life for him.

Kagami’s scowl deepens and he shakes his head. He wouldn’t take offense at the same (but entirely different) declaration you once offered him. You think he understands, even if he doesn’t necessarily approve.

 

It gets worse, slowly but surely, like a steady march to certain death. You might have been able to keep it at bay before, but not recently – not when you see him so often. It should have kept you from training, but you refuse to let it, even though you’ve been coughing up almost as much blood as the petals, crimson against the purple.

It should be gross, but occasionally you find yourself staring at them in morbid fascination.

 

You do tell your Seirin teammates, eventually – you can hardly hide it any longer, and they deserve that much.

You explain the promise between your former teammates – a promise you yourself didn’t strictly make but will see to the end anyway – pleading with Riko to let you still compete, hoping, though you don’t say it outright, for the chance to go up against _him_. But you skirt around the issue of your condition – they recognize it for what it is, even if they don’t know _who_ it is for.

Your heart warms considerably at their worried expressions, Hyuuga’s jaw set in determination, reassuring you that you are not alone in this – even though sometimes, just sometimes, it feels like you are.

 

Rakuzan is relentless.

Miraculously, you manage not to dissolve into a coughing mess while you’re on court, only to proceed to hack up your lungs during the short breaks. Thanks to your feeble presence, you’re able to avoid attracting the attention of anyone other than your teammates, even as the purple flowers pile up beside the bench.

You don’t know if it’s plain stubbornness that keeps you going, or if you’re still holding onto the silly hope that something, anything, can be changed. Not for your own sake, but for _his_.

It takes all you have in you to push yourself harder – to your limit and beyond – to prove yourself a worthy opponent, and the breakthrough comes when you and Kagami finally get past him together.

And just like that his resolve falters. For several long, agonizing moments, nothing goes right for him, and you watch closely as he quietly breaks down in stunned silence. You long to reach out to him, but you know that this is something that only he and his teammates can work out together.

You wait, praying silently.

 

“It’s been a long time… Kuroko.”

 

It comes as quite a shock, really, and you have to struggle to not just _collapse_ , right then and there.

The voice that for so long has only ever called you by your given name, now so gentle and soft. Those eyes, now both a solid ruby red, and what may be a tenderness in them that you thought you’d never see again. On his lips, not a cold smirk anymore, but a faint smile that, for once, truly reaches his eyes.

Your breath hitches.

Time slows – all noise drowned out, all colors lost, everything you have ever known converging into a single point of brilliance – you see only _him_ , and nothing else matters anymore.

In that fragile moment, you allow yourself to hope again.

 

You try not to think about how this might be the last game you play. (But even if it were, you’re afraid you wouldn’t mind all that much.) You focus on what matters here and now, for even in the face of death, you have been gifted with something beautiful.

As he regroups his team for a comeback, you see both sides of him – considerate for his teammates yet still burning with the desire to win – the Akashi Seijuurou that you have come to love in his entirety. Never had he looked so alive, and you feel all the lighter for it.

For the first time in so long, you think you can call yourself happy.

 

It comes as a surprise that your team wins, but winning has never been a goal in itself. You watch him intently, his bottom lip trembling as he struggles to hold back his tears, letting what must be his first ever defeat sink in. He’s still in shock, but it’s morphing into what you hope is acceptance, and possibly even peace, slow if a bit unsteady.

You hope that with this less-than-perfect outcome, he would come to realize that there are things in his world that are beyond his control, things that are not absolute, but flawed and messy and achingly _human_ , yet no less worthwhile.

You hope you’ve helped him see that, if nothing else – just as he has made you a better person, in the end.

 

After the game, he finds you alone.

He calls your name, in a quiet voice – not Tetsuya but Kuroko, simply Kuroko – and again it strikes you just how much you missed this.

This time, you don’t try to suppress your coughs, but it’s not so earth-shattering anymore.

He takes in the flowers, and you see the question in his furrowed brows. You wonder if he knows what they mean.

You cradle them in your fingers – delicately, gently – as if they were something precious. (They are.)

“I’m so glad to have met you,” you say to him, and you mean it.

His eyes widen slightly. You smile to yourself, knowing you’ve managed to surprise him yet again.

“I should be the one to say that,” he answers when he finds his voice again.

He closes the distance between you, his hand reaching up to hover near your cheek, almost touching but not quite. His eyes bore into you, as if asking a silent question – waiting, waiting.

Maybe it’s just a trick of the light, but you think you catch a glimpse of gold in the depths of the red.

You lean in.

When his lips meet yours, they are soft and warm, and it’s not perfect – nothing ever should be – but even better than perfect because of how real it is.

As something new and wonderful blooms between you, you think to yourself that you’ve always had something worth devoting yourself to – but this, _this_ , you know for sure, is something worth living for.

 


End file.
